


Raise Your Glass

by Yoyos_on_the_wharf



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Cult!Ending Canon, Discussion of Abortion, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mary's POV, Other, Post Cult Ending, Present/Past POV, Religious Sacrilege, Unhealthy Relationships, Will add tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoyos_on_the_wharf/pseuds/Yoyos_on_the_wharf
Summary: After the events of Joseph's death, Mary is taken in for questioning by Saul Graves. As she begins her lurid tale, more and more hideous things come to light, bringing them reeling to their final standoff with a sadistic cult leader.





	1. Champagne

**Author's Note:**

> This story is something I wanted to write once my friends and I worked through most of Dream Daddy. I'd heard of the Cult ending, and being interested in cults/serial killers/cryptids in general I was super into it. I saw the cult ending online and it left me fucked up. Due to recent events in my own life I've decided to model some of Joseph's behavior after someone I used to hold dear. As such, many of these tidbits are actual stories that happened- woven into the fabric of telling Mary's story from start to cult ending. I hope you enjoy the story but also take away from it some information about getting mixed up with people like this (mine didn't go supernatural crazy but the human manipulation is all real). 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy?
> 
> Look out for Dad Tips at the end of the chapters!
> 
> [Side Note: All the characters personalities are based around the characters that developed from playing through the game on my friend's youtube channel: [No Strategy Guide](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLroQ0jSwU67Dfd34lnyg1FJczXeRhZ2tO) . Check it out if you want! Everyone should be mostly in character, maybe just more brassy and prone to swearing!]
> 
> I do not own Dream Daddy, that credit goes to the wonderful Game Grumps!

**Raise Your Glass**  
  
Champagne

 

  
_/SHamˈpān/_  
_noun_  
_a white sparkling wine associated with celebration and regarded as a symbol of luxury, typically that made in the Champagne region of France._ _  
_ synonyms: sparkling wine

* * *

  
  
Saul Graves plunks a small container of grape juice in front of me. I arch an eyebrow at him, my lips pursed sourly.  
  
“Is this your idea of a joke?” I rasp, twisting open the cap anyway. Killing your demon husband will make a girl thirsty.  
  
Saul grunts, sitting in the chair across from me. He flips open the blue folder in front of him, the one of the label of JOSEPH CHRISTIANSEN. It’s a considerable size, for someone who claimed to only be a youth minister. Underneath are a handful of other, smaller, folders. MARY CHRISTIANSEN [NEE SYNDER], CHRIS CHRISTIANSEN, CHRISTIE & CHRISTIAN CHRISTIANSEN, CRISH CHRISTIANSEN, ROBERT & MARILYN SMALLS, DAMIEN BLOODMARCH, MAT & ROSA SELLA, ANTONIO BANANAREZ.  
  
“Can’t have wine in here, Mrs. Christiansen,” Saul admits, spreading some of the papers out. A photo of Joseph preaching, a copy of the picture taken on our wedding day, a dossier of people my husband has had extramarital affairs with over the years.    
  
“Name’s Mary, sailor,” I glare. I take a long, fortifying gulp of the grape juice. Maybe it will ferment on the way down.  
  
Saul quirks his eyebrow back at me. “Mary,” he concedes, “I need to know as much as you can tell me about your late husband,” he pauses as I scoff, “as you can tell me. I’ve been following his trail for years.”  
  
“Oh?” the retort comes out sarcastic, “And what makes my husband so special to you? You fuck him too?”  
  
Graves lives up to his last name as he stares at me hard. For a second I think he’s not going to say anything but eventually he sighs, wiping a hand across his tired face, “My wife. Adelaide. I think Joseph had something to do with her death. She died mysteriously, with this symbol scrawled next to her in her own blood.”  
  
He hands over another picture, I close my eyes to avoid looking at it. I know what I’ll see. A circle with six points jutting out and a chubby almost-cross in the center. I know because I’ve seen it tattooed on Robert’s hand. I know because it was on the walls in that hellish place. Worst, I know because three of my children have the same birthmark in the same place.  
  
I narrow my eyes at him, “You with the Feds?”  
  
Saul nods, “A special branch, not known to the general public.”  
  
“Right, the hidden demon fighting branch,” I intone morosely, “You got Cthulhu locked up under here? Think that’s why I could never meet his parents? They’re Elder gods? It would explain how he got so slimy.”  
  
Saul waits for me to stop. I glare at him again.  
  
“Listen, Champ, if we are gonna do this right, it’s gonna be a hell of a long night. You got smokes?” I croak out, dread settling in the pit of my stomach.  
  
Detective Graves gets up and knocks on the two way mirror, seconds later a nervous looking young man I swear I met at Jim & Kim’s, hands over a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He hands me the pack and with shaking fingers I bring the cigarette to my lips. Saul lights it for me before turning back to sit down at the table again.  
  
I let out an unsteady breath, the smoke skittering out nervously on my exhale. Normally I only smoke when I’m out with Robert, but desperate measures and all that.  
  
Taking a deep drag I blow out a wobbly smoke ring before starting, “My mom was a real free spirit type. A hippie, you know? Free love and all that. And as free spirits are wont to do, she often dropped me with relatives while she went out on her romps. Usually with my aunt-“  
  
Graves holds up a hand, “I’m sorry Mrs.- Mary, but what does this have to do with Joseph?”  
  
I glare at him through the smoke of my cigarette, “If you want to know how I got wrapped up in this and who Joseph really was, you are hanging on for the whole story. Record this,” I yell toward the two-way, “I’m not going to rehash it again, comprende?”  
  
Graves nods and gestures for me to continue. I tap the ash of my cigarette into the juice container and pick back up with the story, “-my aunt was a real Jesus freak. One of those born-again-fire-n-brimstone types, ya know? She could preach a minister off his pulpit. Once, my mom found my aunt and her son and I in the kitchen playing with blue milk. When my mom asked why my milk was blue but Kevin’s was white she looked my mom point blank in the face and said, ‘I’m showing Mary how sin taints.’ She was real fun at parties let me tell you,” I flick the ash of my cigarette again, “Basically, she gave me an unhealthy fear of god from a very young age.  
  
“Other than my aunt I had the normal upbringing of a divorced child. Constantly shuttled in between my parents, used as a bargaining chip or leverage,” I shake out another cigarette, using it to point at Graves, “I’m telling you all this so you understand who I was when I met Joseph. I was young and dumb, desperate for a stable family and a place to belong with a side order of god fearing.”

The detective lights my cigarette for me and watches as I took a long drag.

* * *

  
  
My aunt had always signed my cousins and me up for Bible study camp over the summers. My parents, grateful for the reprieve, gladly gave over money to whatever church my aunt was thumping at that month. When I was fourteen, it was St. Peter’s Light Culture Center International. It has a “Jesus loves you” vibe but the international bit was bull. The Church and it’s parishioners where all low to middle class white people. The closest we came to international was one British granny who was always claiming her dentures were possessed by Satan. Griselda was too good for this world.

 

It was at St. Peter’s Youth Outreach Program that I met Joseph for the first time. He’s- _was_ three years older than me. The cool seventeen year old. And he was cool. He read Jack Kerouac, could sing every song by the Grateful Dead, and would wax on for hours about how Victor Frankenstein was an uninspired creator. And in a crowd of Bible thumpers and my asinine cousins he was the only person I felt I could actually talk to, even if he’d definitely drank the God flavor-aid.

 

* * *

 

“He’d call me Maggie,” I sniff, stubbing out my cigarette, “Short for Magdalene. You know, the ‘reformed’ prostitute. But at the time, I thought it was because she healed Jesus from evil spirits or some shit. He was saying I was divine. But sexy. Real  Madonna/Whore complex there.”

* * *

 

“Maggie,” Joseph purred, stretching out next to me as I relaxed on the grass. Flexing his arms above his head, I quickly looked away blushing. “What would you do if someone claiming to be Jesus came to you?”

 

I turned my wide brown eyes on him, “I don’t know, Joseph…” my eyes would widen as his shirt lifted up slightly while he scratched his stubbly chin. “I guess if he showed me he was Christ, then I’d have to believe him right? Like if he turned water into wine or like healed someone or something.”

 

And then he turned his shockingly blue eyes to mine, and with a heart melting smile that looked just a touch sad said, “But that’s not faith, Maggie.”

 

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and I swear I trembled. “To truly have faith in something, you have to believe sight unseen,” he tucked his head, so he could stare at me. In a staged whisper he asked, “Can you have faith?”

 

And maybe it’s retrospect, hindsight 20/20, whatever, but at the time I thought he meant in God. Now… now I think he meant in him.

 

“Yes,” I said breathlessly, and that was the first time he’d kissed me. It was my first kiss. I was fourteen, I had no fucking clue what I was doing. But Joseph took control, showed me how to kiss.

 

* * *

 

“Skeevy, isn’t it?”

 

Saul just looks at me, his fists balled on the table.

 

“You got a daughter?” I ask, offering him a cigarette. Surprisingly, he takes it.

 

As he lights up, he nods, “Yeah. She's fifteen.”

 

I sneer at him, “How would you, a devoted father, think of that situation with if it had been your daughter?”

 

Graves frowns, anger sparking in his eyes. I laugh mirthlessly, “Exactly. My father didn’t give a damn. Neither did my mother. Not that I told them much.”

* * *

 

From that point, love (or what I thought was love) was linked with religious obedience. Joseph and I wouldn’t see each other except for Sundays and summers at camp- he’d somehow coerced my Aunt into staying at St. Peter’s. If, after the sermon while everyone was getting ready for the potluck, I could recite back to Joseph a passage from the bible and the moral of the sermon he’d reward me. A kiss, first on the lips. Then the neck. And as I got older, he got more handsy. More aggressive.

 

I become a religious zealot, always with my head in the bible. It was less about the message and more about the flames of desire that Joseph ignited in me. And like the demon he was, he could walk through such flames unharmed. He could control the fire in me. Bring me to heel with one quick phrase. Bring me to my knees in front of him with another.

 

Sex and religion became the same thing to me. And I willingly went along with what he’d say. It became that I went to him with my questions, my fears, my thoughts. And he’d tell me which were correct, and which weren’t- which were ‘of the devil’s persuasion’.

 

And through it all he remained the charming young man I fell in love with. I had no idea. Those were golden days. I was becoming a woman and wasn’t I lucky to have a wonderful man at my side to lead me into that secret place?

 

I remember once, after a heavy make-out sessions brought to you by Exodus 20: 3-4, he asked about meeting my family. My heart constricted in my chest. On the one hand, surely that meant Joseph was serious about his affections for me. On the other, my family were not anointed in the ways of God.

 

When I told Joseph such, his face fell with pity. “Ah, Maggie,” he whispered, frowning, “Perhaps they can change their ways?”

 

I shook my head vehemently. “I seriously doubt it,” at his even more sullen look I peppered quick kisses along his temple. “I could always… meet… your parents,” I offered tentatively, wanting him to know I was also willing to take that step.

 

Joseph’s frown became more pronounced at my words. His eyes looked askance before he muttered lowly, “I...don’t have parents.”

 

“What?” I asked shocked, “Did they….?”

 

“No,” he shakes his head ruefully, “My father jumped ship before I was born. And in an attempt to get him back my mother got an abortion,” his stormy blue eyes clashes up with mine, “I was suppose to have a twin,” he smiled sadly, “But I still survived. God has his reasons, I suppose. Still trying to work that one out.”

 

He ran an agitated hand through his hair before scowling, “My mother gave me up to the state three months after I was born. I was taken in by Reverend Benedict Eli Crow, here in St. Peter’s. I still live in the attic above the pews.”

 

My heart broke for him. This glorious man I loved and I gripped him tight to me. As I held him, I could feel hot tears dotting my shirt. I cradled him and whispered, “I’m so glad you survived.”

 

Joseph gripped my shoulders painfully before coming up for air. His blue eyes flinty with anger and indignation. “I am too.”

 

His kiss hurt then too.

 

* * *

 

“Robert, for all his conspiracy theories-" I furrow my brow, "-that I suppose we need to put stock in now, is well read on the subject of four things,” I count them off on my fingers, “cryptids, mixology, film history, and cults. He once gave me a list of attributes one night after I’d had a couple of drinks. Attributes I found out later were shared by renowned cult leaders- Manson, Koresh, and the like. Out of 50, Joseph scored 48. That’s a 96% for those of you paying attention at home, I’m sure most wives can’t say they have an grade-A cult leader for husband. Imagine saying that around the knitting circle.”

 

I light a cigarette, hands shaking again. I steady as I take a drag. Absently, I whisper through the smoke, “I wonder if that last 4% was all the human he had in him.”

 

* * *

 

When Joseph was nineteen he signed up to join the Navy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dad Tips: Mary’s maiden name is Synder which in Danish and Norwegian means ‘sinner.’
> 
> Dad Tips: Exodus 20:3 "You shall have no other gods before me."/ Exodus 20:4 "You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below."
> 
> Dad Tips: Here is the article from Psychology Today about the 50 Characteristics of a Cult Leader if you are interested [Dangerous Cult Leader](https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/spycatcher/201208/dangerous-cult-leaders)
> 
> Dad Tips: Here is the [Church Name Generator](http://churchnamegenerator.com/) I used just for funnzies
> 
> Dad Tips: Reverend Benedict Eli Krow gets his name from very interesting figures. Benedict from Benedict Arnold, the titular turncoat. Eli as a short form of Eligos, a Great Duke of Hell from Christian theology who once appeared before Aleister Crowley, where he gets his last name Krow. His initials spell out B.E.K which is another name (BEKs) for the cryptid phenomenon Black Eyed Children. Because I have a naming problem, and everything needs to mean something :X
> 
> Dad Tips: The fic name is based on the song “Raise Your Glass” by P!nk. This chapter’s subtheme songs “Son of a Preacher Man” by Dusty Springfield originally, but I personally like the rendition done for Sons of Anarchy and "Born Again" by Saint Motel.


	2. Moscato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, finally got this chapter out. Work and life has been crazy lately.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Dad Tips at the end of the Chapter!
> 
> I do not own Dream Daddy, that credit goes to the wonderful Game Grumps!

**Raise Your Glass**

 

Moscato

 

 _mos·ca·to_   
_/masˈkädō/_ _  
_ a sweet Italian dessert wine.

 

* * *

 

Saul interrupted me, holding up one hand before selecting a piece of paper from Joseph’s file. He flicked it across to me and I stared, wide-eyed down at the paper. It was a report marked ELS with a newspaper clipping attached to the side.

 

_‘Joseph J. Christiansen has been granted Entry Level Separation (ELS) from active Naval duty due to an injury sustained in week seven of Navy Basic boot camp.’_

 

And the newspaper clipping:

 

_‘NAVY RECRUIT INJURED DURING GRUELING BATTLE STATIONS WEEKS, SELF-INFLICTED?’_

 

I look up at Saul, a frown of confusion tugging at my lips. “He… he never made it past basic?”

 

The detective in front of me shakes his head, vehemently.

 

“It was suspected that he may have jumped off the ship himself, sustaining an injury in an attempt to get out of naval duty. As the injury occured due to “tampered” equipment and no culprit was identified, the Navy paid for his knee surgery. A few months after his recovery and subsequent dismissal, rumors from his fellow recruits started to trickle in about his odd behavior.”

 

I bite my lip, surprised by the betrayal I feel. After all of the cheating, the _demon pacts_ , still more lies are coming out. It shouldn’t phase me, but it does. Each new lie slices open the sutures I use to stitch my most vulnerable pieces together. Can’t anything from the past twelve years be true? “Odd behaviour?”

 

Saul looks down at the folder, “Reports of bunkmates hearing strange muttering, especially when out on open water. His fellow trainees said he’d whisper things like ‘I have to get out of here. I have to go. He’s waiting.’ Joseph waking up screaming and covered in sweat. Strange symbols found under his mattress in “rust” colored paint. An ensign cleaned it up before a proper sample could be taken.”

 

Saul frowns down at the paper before continuing, “The most terrifying story that came up was from another Naval Recruit - John Turner. He claimed that one night while he and Joseph were on watch together he started getting a prickling feeling down his neck. They were out at sea and he figured it was just the salty air so he ignored it. But as he did his rounds, his unease increased until he finally turned around a faced a dark figure. Moonlight broke through the cloudy sky, illuminating the figure. It was Joseph, but… it wasn’t. His arms were too long and his neck was twisted a little too much to be humanly possible. Mr. Turner even said that his eyes looked black, like the whole thing had turned into one big pupil. But the worst part of it was when Joseph started lumbering towards him. His one arm dragging on the deck of ship, careless of what it hit. His other reaching out, clenching and grasping for Turner. He looked so disproportionate that he should have fallen over, especially when the boat gave a strong lurch to one side, but he just kept coming. Turner then reports waking up on the bow of the ship, drenched in sea water, with his neck covered in black and blue indents. It was found later that Joseph had been in the infirmary all night due to a high fever and visual distortions.”

 

I close my eyes briefly, before tapping my nails on the table. I push away the familiar visions of my husband with jet black eyes and a horrible grinning smile clouding my mind. My stomach roils and I reach for another cigarette.

 

Saul takes one himself, his hands just a bit unsteady. I light it up for him and continue my tale.

 

* * *

 

When Joseph was nineteen he left for the Navy. I was sixteen and love sick. I wrote letter after letter to him, but they all got returned. I figured they weren’t allowed contact while in basic training - he’d mentioned it in passing before he left.

 

But he also promised he’d be back for me.

 

You know when you’re young and in love and you do stupid shit you think is romantic? Yeah, well, the embarrassing thing that I did? I learned a bunch of sea shanties. I thought I could sing them to him once he was back with me, laying in my lap, regaling me with his stories. It was all very lovely, like a Nicky Sparks book.

 

I drove my parents batty with croaky renditions of “Spanish Ladies” or “Roll the Old Chariot”. That’s when I found that the feline persuasion likes sea shanties. Joseph never liked my singing but the shelter cats think it’s a hoot. Sometimes they’ll sing with me.

 

I fell into a depression after he left, I felt like I was nothing without him. My friends one by one left me, annoyed with my religious zealousness and my constant pining. I continued to go to church and kept all my letters bound in a big book for Joseph as a gift for when he came back. He’d worked hard on isolating me before he left, but this, this I did on my own. Willingly. I was so blinded by this cookie cutter vision of my future with him I didn’t even notice I was pulling away from the people I really needed.

 

A week before my eighteenth birthday, he came home. His hair was cut short, he was walking tall, he’d put on muscle. Gotten an anchor tattoo I thought was so sexy. I should have realized he was acting different, that something fundamental had changed but I was too young and too in love.

 

I asked him about his leg scar, of course, and he told me he’d had an accident, but that in that cold, stormy water he’d seen _something_. He told me as the cold brine crashed into his lungs and his leg rippled on the water like a leaf all he could feel was the presence of God fill him. He didn’t need air because his Maker was his breath. He didn’t need legs because the Holiest of the Holy was guiding his path. Joseph said the sheer tangible power felt in that moment would have broken a weaker man.

 

He’d had a revelation from God, he was meant to be a minister.

* * *

 

“I’m not so sure now it was God he found in those tides,” my stomach clenches painfully. “Especially given Turner’s story. I’m pretty sure whatever he… _served_ was waiting for him. Calling him,” vitri0l burns like acid in my stomach as I attempt to keep my story on track, “He told me in his vision that I was integral to his plan. That he _needed_ me or he couldn’t fulfill his God given mission. I was meant to be by his side and bring forth his children into the world. A brilliant new world full of promise. And didn’t that just make me feel special?”

 

I laugh bitterly, flicking a glance at the mirror, “Whose dick does a girl gotta suck to get some coffee around here? With a shot of creamer, or do I have to _pump_ my own?”

 

Saul coughs violently, in what I think might be a stifled laugh, but a few minutes later the embarrassed youth from before slips in with a styrofoam cup of coffee.

 

I definitely know that kid. I narrow my eyes… Sean? Kyle? Whatever.

 

“Yuck, this shit is sludge!” I exclaim, my tongue burning from the viscous liquid. “You’re a secret government agency, don’t you get a goddamn coffee budget?”

 

“Mary?” came Saul’s gruff voice, “Let’s continue shall we?”

 

I take another gulp of the sludge, “The ball is in your court, detective. Tell me, where was my honey-lips for the two years he wasn’t at the Navy Academy?”

 

Saul frowns before scrubbing a hand over his face. “As far as we found we was in a rehab facility on base for six months, he’d actually been in a coma for a couple weeks there as well. When he came to, his leg was healed and he began earnestly working on building strength again. Doctors claim he was like a man possessed, hated to be confined to the bed. Constantly talking about his vision from God. Then it seems he fucked off to Jamaica for a few more months and we lost him after that until he showed back up in your quiet town.”

 

“Ha!” I brayed suddenly, “I guess I get his reluctance to honeymoon in the Caribbean now, if he was man-whoring his way through the islands.”

 

Saul remained impassive, merely taking out a photo of Joseph. “This is a photo we found…”

 

He gives me the yellow-edged photo in it Joseph has his arms around the middle of a very pregnant Jamaican woman. He’s partially hidden behind her shoulder, which he’s placing a kiss on. Under his lips is the telltale stain of a tattoo. I frown as I notice the tendrils of red ink.

 

“Her name was Deshane,” he says in a low voice, “She died in childbirth along with the baby she was carrying.”

 

I feel my jaw crack as I grit my teeth, “Was he there?”

 

Saul nods, “Nurses report that he looked down at her in disgust saying she wasn’t strong enough. If everyone is right, it lines up that he moved back to your town two weeks later.”

 

My knuckles turn white from clenching the photo. I run a haggard hand over my face before pushing the photo away. I take a long drag of my cigarette.

 

 _Maybe she was luckier to get out early_ , is the bitter thought that flies around my head. _Maybe I’m jealous. If she’d been… whatever, would I been saved this hell?_

 

I shake my head, trying to clear the angry swarming. She isn’t to blame. He is.

 

Without preamble I start up my story again.

* * *

 

Things were really good _in the beginning_.

 

When he first came home he made a grand appearance at Church. His arms overflowing with camellias and daffodils, his radiant smile shining only on me. It was like a magnet drawing me towards him as he appeared from behind the pulpit. Reverend Benedict smiled warmly at us as I walked my way towards Joseph from the pews.

 

I remember having the odd tickling feeling of “this must be what a bride feels like”. Everyone watching her as she makes her trek down the aisle to her beloved. And Joseph, golden, glimmering Joseph, his smile heartbreakingly eager. He handed me the bouquet and swept me into his arms. His lips chastely brushed mine but I could feel his cock stiff against me. As he pulled away my head was spinning and he beamed down at me.

 

I felt punch drunk and stayed glued to his side for the rest of the sermon. I could feel the occasionally curious eyes on me from my fellow parishioners and I remember thinking smugly about how jealous they all were. I’d seen the looks Joseph received in passing. From the older women, the younger, even some of the men. Until this moment, Joseph hadn’t made his intentions known to the church, but he had publicly declared his attentions to me. My heart was so full I could barely remember what Revend Benedict preached about.

 

“Maggie,” he whispered huskily in my ear. We were pressed against one another in the attic that served as his boyhood room. His hands were frantic on me, “Lord knows I’ve missed you. Oh Maggie.”

 

I let out a hiss as his kisses trailed down my neck, “Joseph,” I cried out weakly, my limbs heavy. My heart beat erratically as his hands groped up my leg. He paused at the hem of my panties, pulling his lips off my neck with a pop!

 

He gently kissed my forehead, “What you do to me…” he shook his head, his fingers stroked my cheek, “I can’t wait till you’re ready for me. I’ve never known another woman like you.”

* * *

 

“By _ready_ I figured he meant of age, seeing as I was still a week away from eighteen,” I rasp, stubbing out my cigarette violently in the ashtray. “But when I told Robert about this whole mess he pointed out that I probably wasn’t ready as a vessel yet. Or a containment unit for his... _spawn…_.”

 

Graves makes noise of rebuke, I pierce him with my eyes.  “What? You want to tell me I can’t call my own children _spawn_ ? You saw them down there, black eyed soulless husks. He used to tell me that my horror movie watching was the problem- that the twins did their ‘creepy talk’ because of one taped over veggie tales. You want to tell me what I can and can’t call them? Well excuse me for wanting to differentiate the children I _thought_ I had carried in my body to those sadistic monsters he made them into.”

 

I can almost feel the temperature in the room drop as I continue to glare at Graves, “Count your blessings your little girl will never go through that.”

 

“Mary-”

 

“Can it,” I hold up a hand, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s get this shit over with, I need a stiff drink.”

* * *

 

He doted on me. It was like the sun rose in my image every morning the way he would talk about me. He would come over first thing in the morning, usually with flowers and some sort of baked good. He loved to bake and he taught me how to make the perfect brownie, bless Betty Crocker. 

 

“‘Sinful Brownies’ I call them,” he had his wolfish smile on, the one he wore when he found himself amusing, “I swear these would have tempted Eve far quicker than an old apple.”

 

He was fond of making biblical jokes like that, ones that were just slightly off color. It helped with his ‘cool’ minister image. A Christian who can make jokes! What a novel experience. Don’t you feel more at ease?

 

We’d have breakfast and then go for a walk, he’d fill my head with words of love and devotion. Listening to him, to his beautiful plans for us, was like tangibly touching summertime after a bitter winter.

 

We found we had so much in common.

 

I told him I loved Stephen King, Anne Rice, Ursula K Le Guin. I was nervous he’d think of those books as sinful but he just laughed it off saying he enjoyed them too. He liked the big name titles: The Shining, Misery, Interview with a Vampire, Tales From Earthsea.

He told me he liked scary movies that were more psychological, like Seven and American Psycho. I liked those but gritty slash’em ups were more my thing- Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers- classic brainless vengeance monsters.

 

I told him how I loved reheated spaghetti and he told me his favorite was with vodka sauce. I wanted three kids, he wanted three or four. My dream was to be a stay at home mother and homeschooler and he wanted a wife and little ones to come home to.

 

My favorite time of day was right after dawn and his was right before because it reminded him that even in the dark there is light to be found.

 

He’d listen intently when I’d cry to him about my issues with my parents. How they didn’t care. How they were non-believers. My concerns with them going to Hell.

 

He held me as I cried, petting my hair and kissing away my tears, “Mary,” he said sternly, but not unkindly, “One day, the angels of virtue and the demons of vice will meet on a battlefield and you have to decide which side you are on. Some people don’t want to be saved, but we can’t let that hamper our own journey with Him.”

 

One evening, about maybe three days after he got back, he started talking about all these amazing ways to propose to me. Having someone write my name in the clouds above the church. Creating a romantic dinner on the yacht under the stars. The one I remember the most though is the roses.

 

One day as we broke apart from kissing, he stared into my eyes before saying softly, “Roses.”

 

I quirked an eyebrow at him, “Roses? What are you talking about?”

 

He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yellow roses. One morning you might wake up and look out your bedroom window to a lawn full of yellow roses.”

 

I crinkled my nose at him, “My mother would be beside herself if you dug up our yard,” I laughed at the thought, “Besides, I don’t particularly like roses.”

 

A dark cloud passed over Joseph’s eyes and his mouth turned into a grim line, “You’ll like whatever flowers I give you, don’t pretend otherwise.”

 

I blinked at him for a second before saying, “Of course I will, honey.”

 

Instantly the stormy look cleared from his face and he smiled radiantly again. That was the first time I ever saw a crack in his veneer.

* * *

 

“Big Fish,” Saul grunts, drawing absent circles on the pad in front of him. I take a puff before I look over at him, my eyebrows raised.

 

“I didn’t take you as a family friendly film kind of a guy,” I drawl, “Robert showed it to me after I told him about the roses. He stole that idea. Looking back, the persona he crafted for me was merely a patchwork from his favorite movies and TV shows.” I take a puff of my cigarette. “Not books though. He claimed otherwise, but if there weren’t pictures involved, he just wasn’t interested. Unless it was _the Good Book_ , he knew that one cover to cover.”

 

Saul smirks, “They have illustrated copies.”

 

I nod at him, returning his smirk.

* * *

 

On my eighteenth birthday Joseph and I suffered through an awkward dinner with my parents. He tried to charm them, sending them winning looks while complimenting me profusely. I glowed under his praise but I dimmed a little every time I caught my parent’s eyes.

 

They grilled him about his naval career and his injury, which I promptly put a stop to when I saw him wince and reach for my hand. I gripped it tightly, relishing in the fact that he needed my support.

 

“Tell them about seminary school, love,” I pushed into the conversation forcefully. Joseph gave me a small secret smile of thanks.

 

Joseph dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin before turning to my father, “I got a full ride to Cannock Valley St. Paul’s Seminary School.”

 

My father actually brightened at this, “That’s in the next state over!”

 

I tilted my head to smile fondly at Joseph. “We wanted to talk to you about that actually.”

 

My parents frowned in unison. It was the first thing in eighteen years I ever saw them do together.

 

I plowed ahead, interlocking my fingers with Joseph’s, “Reverend Benedict called ahead and found lodging for us both. Joseph has asked me to come live with him!”

 

My joy faded as quickly as it emerged. My parents both shared abject looks of horror. They caught each other’s eyes across the table and exploded:

 

“WHAT THE _HELL_ ARE YOU THINKING?”

 

I took a deep breath- Joseph and I had talked about how to handle their potential outburst. “I want to be with him, at his side while he does the will of the Lord.”

 

“The _Lord?!_ ” my father hissed, “I knew you were getting a little too attached to that damned bible, Mary. Youthful searching I thought,” he rounded on Joseph, “And him?! You barely know him! Daphne, talk some sense into her!”

 

My mother picked up his volley easily, “ _This_ is the first time we’ve even met Joseph, you expect us to let you move out of state with him?”

 

I slammed my hand down on the table, “If either of you _ever_ cared to listen to me you would have known how much I care about him!”

 

My mother’s face turned a purplish red, “How dare you! Saying those awful things to your mother!”

 

“No, what’s awful is that...” my throat closed up and a wheezed cry escaped from it, “...is that you two haven’t cared to know me in _years_ . And this man,” I turn to Joseph, my words laced with protective malice, “ _he_ understands me.”

 

“ _‘He_ understands me.’ What a joke,” my mother continues, “That’s what I thought about your father too.”

 

I stare at her, my eyes prickling with tears. “I will _not_ repeat the sins of my parents.”

 

Garbled words of outrage spilled from both their mouths as Joseph pushed his chair back from the table. His palm was reassuringly warm on the small of my back.

 

“Mary,” he said authoritatively, snapping me out of my hiccuping sobs, “Let’s excuse ourselves.”

 

I nodded weakly, turning to walk out of the dining room.

 

“ ** _Mary_** **_Marie_** **_Synder_** ,” my father boomed as his chair scraped against the wood floor.

 

He stalked around until he was only a foot from me. “If you _dare_ walk out that door,” he was so angry his spittle burned against my cheeks where it landed, “your mother and I will give you no help when your life falls apart!”

 

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Now, apologize to your mother and I for your insensitive remarks and we can sit and talk about all of this.”

 

Feeling Joseph’s hand curl tightly against my back I took in a deep breath. Without turning to look at him I paused in the doorway, “I’m eighteen now, I make my own choices. _‘If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.’_ I will not continue to live under the guilt you hold for your sins.”

 

And I walked out. I haven’t talked to my parents since that day. I saw them once more, when I came to collect my things before moving with Joseph to Cannock Valley.

* * *

 

Things got a little blurry after we left my mom’s place. It was my birthday still, and Joseph had gotten us a hotel room. He had wanted a romantic evening with me but I was a crying sniffly mess. We checked in, and when the receptionist eyed Joseph and asked if I was doing alright, he gruffly answered for me.

 

“She’s fine,” his tone brokered no argument and I turned and followed him down the hall. As we approached the door Joseph said, “Listen, Maggie, I know you’re upset but if you keep that up they’re gonna think I beat you. Put on a smile.”

 

I stared at his retreating back for a second before following him into the hotel room. It was… a cheap hotel room (he claimed his severance pay hadn’t come in yet, _yeah okay_ ). Two creaky single beds, a tv that only got one grainy channel, lemon surface cleaner that didn’t mask the odors of the people before us entirely. I dropped my purse down and the next thing I knew Joseph had me pushed up against the wall.

 

He was kissing me viciously, his knee pushing roughly between my thighs. I could feel his cock stiff again my leg, twitching as he kissed me. He bruised my lips as I tried to reciprocate, his hands licked like flames at my throat.

 

“Joseph…” I said weakly, whether it was a plea for him to stop or to continue I don’t know. In those cold moments after severing myself from my parents I wanted nothing more than the warmth of another human.

 

He pulled away, his fingers tensing slightly, his breath came out in hard gasps and he pistoned his hips against mine. I gasped out at the contact, scared but eager. Everything in my body wanted me to yield to him, to offer up my very most self as though he possessed the powers of God.

 

“Do you love me, Mary?” he urged me, before sucking on my earlobe. One hand slid down, ruching the hem of my skirt up my thigh. His other hand kept me pinned, though his eyes alone would have been sufficient. “Do you, Mary? I _know_ you do. _Tell_ me you do.”

 

As my mouth opened I got the distinct feeling of vertigo. Like I was standing on the edge of cliff, peeking down into thrashing manic waves. It felt like something was watching me from the dark, torrent water. Something old and _hungry_.

 

And then all together the waters parted, like they had for Moses, revealing Joseph glowing and holding out his arms. Golden rays of protection shimmered around him even as the tide threatened against his power.

 

Suddenly I was back in my body and my words tumbled out in a rush, as fast and all consuming as the water in my vision. “Of course I love you. Only you, Joseph.”

 

Joseph’s smile was wild as he scooped me up and pinned me to the bed. He leaned up on his knees, bracing them on either side of me. Reaching for his belt I froze.

 

“Joseph, we _can’t_. We’re not married yet,” I protested weakly, shaking with anxiety.

 

Joseph pauses, his belt undone and bends over me to kiss my lips gently. “You said you love me, Mary. And I love you,” he said, and before I could process that he plowed on, “I had a vision in those waves, Mary. That you were my wife, given to me by Him. It’s only Man’s law that is keeping us apart.”

 

He twined his hands with mine, kissing each of my fingers. Sighing, he rested his head against my knuckles, “You trust His word, don’t you? Trust the visions He sent me?”

 

I nodded, mute, watching his humbling display.

 

“Rest assured I will marry you under Man’s law, but tonight,” he stroked my cheeks, “Sweet Mary. Tonight, lie with me as a husband and wife do. As Jacob did with Leah, come to my bed and open yourself.”

 

My lips parted as I let him drop his pants and climb on top of me.

* * *

 

I stub out my cigarette, taking a deep exhale. “That was the night I got pregnant with Chris.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dad Tips: "Cannock Valley" is a mashup of [Cannock Chase Woods](http://cryptidz.wikia.com/wiki/The_Black_Eyed_Child_of_Cannock_Chase) in England, where sightings of the terrifying Black Eyed Children have occurred. And [the Uncanny Valley effect](https://www.strangerdimensions.com/2013/11/25/10-creepy-examples-uncanny-valley/).
> 
> Dad Tips: Deshane is a Jamaican girl's name that means God Is Merciful or Yahweh is Gracious
> 
> Dad Tips: Daffodils mean Rebirth. Carmella means 'my destiny is in your hands'. Yellow roses mean infidelity. 
> 
> Dad Tips: Here's an article on [Lovebombing](https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/reading-between-the-headlines/201703/the-danger-manipulative-love-bombing-in-relationship) which is a manipulative technique Joseph is using on Mary. As well as another article on being with a [narcissist](https://www.quora.com/What-trait-of-a-narcissistic-personality-causes-the-deepest-scar-and-does-the-most-damage-to-the-victim/answer/C-Nthenya?share=b4b99cde&srid=1gmh) and how scarring they can be. 
> 
> Dad Tips: This chapter's subtheme songs are "Just One Yesterday" by Fallout Boy for Joseph and "Hold Me Down" by Halsey for Mary. Here's a link to the [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/elmmckenna/playlist/7L0599nNdHQksW2hG0j7aL) that I'll update as I put chapters up. 
> 
> Dad Tips: ‘If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.’ is John 1:8-10.
> 
> Dad Tips: Big Fish is an absolutely wonderful movie and you should watch it if you haven't!


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